Fic Amnesty: Coffee and Donuts
by Mostly Harmless III
Summary: It was coffee and donuts, greetings all over again. And though nothing had changed, nothing was quite right either. Slashy. Wolfwood/Vash. This is a very old fic. I'm uploading it again for giggles.


Title: Coffee and Donuts  
>Author: Ren Makoto (Mostly Harmless III)<br>Pairing: Vash/Wolfwood. Sorta. Urk…?  
>Rating: PG<br>Summary: It was coffee and donuts, greetings and jokes all over again. And though nothing had changed, nothing was quite right either.  
>Author's Note: This is one of the earliest fics I ever wrote. I am uploading it as part of my fic amnesty. For said fic amnesty, I am uploading old fics, unfinished fics, etc. I hope you enjoy.<p>

* * *

><p>Coffee and Donuts<p>

* * *

><p>"How do I look?"<p>

Vash the Stampede playfully stroked his smooth chin in contemplation at the question while his traveling companion turned in front of him awkwardly. He had knocked on the door of Vash's room only seconds ago and Vash had set aside what he was doing to answer this all-important question.

"Like a regular lady killer," he proclaimed after a moment of consideration.

Nicholas D. Wolfwood twisted around to check for dust or lint and then faced his friend again. "Thanks, I was kinda worried."

The man's black suit was cleaner than it had been in a long time so his worries were unfounded. His hair was clean, still a bit damp, but definitely more carefully placed than was normal for the "priest." Even the stubble was shaved from his chin making him look younger, his dark blue eyes somehow brighter. He looked like he was ready for a date, which, in fact, he was.

Satisfied that he looked passable, he shoved a hand in his pocket to retrieve a cigarette and wrestled with the package until he had one safely in hand. "Well, I'm off," he muttered and headed for the door.

"Hold it, hold it!" Vash hurried over to his friend and placed a restraining hand on his shoulder. Leaning in close, he dusted at a tiny piece of fuzz on the collar of Wolfwood's jacket. It was being stubborn; Vash had to pick it off to get rid of it and Wolfwood stood patiently through the exercise. Finally triumphant, Vash brought the fuzz close to his face to examine it and then blew a puff of air to send it floating to the floor. He gave Wolfwood a final assessing look then nodded. "That's better."

"Thanks," Wolfwood offered gruffly, cigarette halfway to his lips. He was out the door without a second glance.

Left alone in the semi darkness of twilight, Vash settled down at the desk of his hotel room and began methodically cleaning his gun.

Mindless work, but rewarding nonetheless. And it allowed him time to think. Seeing Wolfwood relax and actually go on a date like a normal person gave Vash a feeling of peace for a flickering moment. He couldn't remember the woman's name, but he hoped Wolfwood had a good time.

The loaded cartridge slammed into place, and the brief feeling of peace was gone, even if the hope remained.

* * *

><p>Breakfast was always a crazy and hectic affair. The insurance girls beat down his door in paranoia that he had slipped off during the night-same routine every morning, like clockwork. Today was no different and Vash greeted them cheerfully then headed down to the dusty hotel lobby for donuts to start the day off right. He was stuffing a powdered confection into his mouth when Wolfwood slumped into a chair across from him.<p>

"How was it?"

Wolfwood looked tired, but he smiled a wicked sort of smile. "Not bad at all." He lit his morning cigarette and frowned when Vash offered him a donut.

"No thanks. Coffee."

Without a second thought, Vash had a cup poured for his friend and waited for details. "Well? What did you do? What was she like? Is she pretty? What's her name again?"

The coffee froze midway to Wolfwood's lips. "One question at a time, my head is killing me."

Vash shook his head, exaggerated disapproval lighting his face, making his eyes sparkle. "And you accuse me of not handling my liquor? Shame on you."

"Well I'm not wearin' a tie around my head and acting like a buffoon!" Wolfwood barked back then clutched his head when the sound of his own voice felt like an earthquake between his ears.

Vash gave a cruel laugh, poured him some more coffee and the jibes continued, a volley of bad language and toilet witticism. Competition and similarities kept things interesting. The coffee and donuts just made it sweeter.

* * *

><p>"How do you get yourself into these things?" Wolfwood looked at the deep gash that ran from Vash's wrist to his elbow and couldn't hide his amazement and frustration. Vash only shrugged in response. Wolfwood gave a sigh of defeat, cleaned the wound with a good portion of liquor and laughed when Vash winced.<p>

"'S'good for it," he murmured and leaned in closer to the raw skin.

Sitting close to Vash on the floor in the darkened lobby of the hotel, he held the bleeding arm in his lap and actually tried to be gentle with his ministrations. With only a weak light to work by, it was no easy task. He could barely see his own fingers and even the blood looked like sticky black tar. His fingers pressed into Vash's skin, catching the clean linen strip and moving it deftly between his fingers. Their shoulders pressed together, their breathing like whirring engines in the silence.

"Hold still!" He tugged the arm further onto his lap and Vash gave a grunt as his body pressed heavily into Wolfwood's. The priest, focused on pressing the split skin together and holding it in place with the strips, barely noticed the weight and heat of the other body. It registered somewhere, but he kept moving, lifting the arm to bring the material around and lowering it gently to repeat the motion.

He finished wrapping the wound, a dark stain already forming on the once clean linen, and patted Vash on the back when he finished playing doctor.

"It'll be like new in a while, I guess." Ash fell from the tip of his cigarette as he spoke. He was his usual disheveled self; his hair was too long, his face unwashed and his chin unshaven. It was a familiar sight even if the details were lost in the shadows.

Vash rolled the sleeve of his coat back down and gave an exaggerated yawn then let his hand fall back onto the waiting lap. The darkness hid his face so he took a moment to study Wolfwood who was rubbing his face roughly. His eyes were droopier than usual, his mouth drawn down at the edges. Even his cigarette looked sad and tired. How much of his weariness could be solved by a night's sleep, Vash didn't know. What ailed Wolfwood was probably much more difficult to fix, he reasoned.

Outside, night creatures clicked and chirped, the wind forced its way through cracks and the shadows shifted as the moons made their journey towards morning. The two men sat and listened to it all, leaning into each other, their eyes gazing at the dark nothing before them. And the moment eased along, lengthening without either man moving.

It was comfortable.

As comfortable to Vash as Wolfwood's coffee-scented "hello" in the morning or his heavy laughter and lazy swagger. As familiar to Wolfwood as the smell of leather and donuts that accompanied Vash or the muffled sound of a cloth rubbing against a massive silver gun.

No gunfights now. No assassins, no mysterious pasts and daunting futures. Just night and its noises and the feel of a leather-covered shoulder pressed into rough cotton. And who would tell them to move? Perhaps they could hold the suns at bay, enjoy the rare feeling of safety and peace for just a little longer.

But then, what right did either of them have to such a blessed thing?

"Well, time for some shuteye." Vash stood, the action completely removing his arm from Wolfwood's lap. The moment ended, the feeling of comfort went with it. His shoulder felt ice-cold suddenly, his wound truly hurting for the first time.

He moved slowly to the doorway of the room and paused there. Nighttime bathed his eyes in stars and long expanses of desert beyond the broken buildings of the town. Vash gazed into it, determined not to look back. But his mind drifted back to the man still sitting on the floor, wondering what he thought, if he had noticed the calm moment that had gone as quickly as it came. He wondered if he missed it, too. And Vash wondered if, even now, Wolfwood was looking at the place where he had been sitting, feeling somehow empty, wishing he would come back so they could lean into each other and merge and blend until nothing else mattered.

The feeble light from the lamp splashed on Vash's back and illuminated his stretched frame. There were words to express times like this, things that were right to say. Vash lingered for a minute longer, as if he would try to say one or all of them.

Comfort, familiarity.

His lips parted, then closed. Finally, he smiled.

" 'Night, Wolfwood." But it wasn't what he meant to say.

And then a whispered reply, " 'Night, Vash," which wasn't quite right either.

* * *

><p>"This bar is great!" Vash looked around with his blue-green eyes dancing in excitement. "Bring another round, grandma!"<p>

Wolfwood was slouching in the chair across from him, a half-finished beef before him and uneasy eyes scanning the space around him. He was smoking as much as ever and Vash didn't take the time to count how many he went through.

"All right Mr. Vash the Stampede, take a look at her." Wolfwood pointed with his cigarette at a lady sitting at the bar by herself. She was a looker, that was true. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail and her outfit was sleek and sexy but somehow refined. Vash got a starry-eyed look on his face and tried to catch her attention with a wave.

"She's really beautiful," he muttered looking like the alcohol had killed his last brain cell.

"Five double dollars says she goes out with me," Wolfwood challenged, smashing his cigarette into the ashtray.

Vash stifled the comment about churchmen that formed in his mind and accepted the challenge instead. "You're on. I've got five on her slapping you and calling you a 'pervert'."

Wolfwood stood at that, teeth grinding together. He leaned over Vash menacingly. "We'll just see about that!"

* * *

><p>"Does it hurt a lot?" Vash leaned over Wolfwood this time, but without menace. He was curious, studying the interesting pattern forming before his eyes.<p>

"Yes," Wolfwood grunted, pulled the icepack from his cheek and glared as pain shot through his face.

"I guess I win the bet, then," Vash said, finding sympathy a bit too hard in the face of victory.

"No! You don't!" Wolfwood yelled but had to wince from the sound which only aggravated his booming headache. Did he always have to cause himself so much pain? Somehow, it was all Vash's fault...

Vash couldn't hide his disbelief. He replayed the scene in his mind, certain that he had in fact won the bet. The least the stupid priest could do was admit defeat!

"What! Why not?"

His bruised face actually compiled into a triumphant grin. "She didn't call me a 'pervert'!"

* * *

><p>"You know Vash, women don't fall for that injured wuss routine..."<p>

Vash could only scowl at the dark haired man across from him as he wiped the ketchup off his coat. "Well, I don't see you coming up with any better ideas."

Wolfwood shrugged. "I've got natural charm. Women fall for my good looks."

Vash quickly informed Wolfwood, in no uncertain terms, that he didn't believe him and then offered a series of examples to support his argument. Wolfwood, suffice it to say, was not happy. His expression shifted from mild annoyance to downright anger in mere seconds though Vash was able to go on for much longer than that.

"Fine! Okay! So I've got bad luck with women, too. Fine!"

Vash, all cleaned up and ravenous, dug into his spaghetti and nodded in agreement.

Lighting his fourth cigarette since lunch had arrived, Wolfwood looked out the window and spoke with a lighthearted tone. "You know, I say if we're both still single 15 years from now, we just settle down and marry each other. I'll bandage up your wounds; you can keep the house clean. How does it sound?"

There was a pause. Just a fraction of a moment when perhaps both were thinking that maybe, just maybe...

Then Vash laughed. "Good idea 'Wolfwood Dear'! Mind passing the pepper, honey?"

Wolfwood threw it at his head.

* * *

><p>The sky, endless and curving, looked like liquid fire with oranges and deep reds streaking and blending together. The suns were setting and the view somehow softened the harshness of the desert landscape before them. Perched side by side on a porch on the edge of yet another no-name town, Vash and Wolfwood enjoyed the scene in silence.<p>

Vash leaned back on his hands, palm down behind him while Wolfwood slouched over with his elbows resting on his knees, sunglasses firmly in place over his slanting eyes.

"That's quite a sight," he almost whispered, for once, no cigarette to distort the words. Vash, ever the slave to beauty, could only nod, knowing that Wolfwood couldn't see him, but that he understood. The sky was a painting, a masterpiece, a miracle.

Wolfwood shifted his lanky form and adopted Vash's position and removed his sunglasses. The silence remained even as the suns departed, leaving the world a little cooler and bringing darkness as a welcome herald of crisp, star-filled night. Wolfwood absorbed it all. It seemed to fill him, this scene, this moment of calm.

Turning his head to the left, he could see the sharp profile of his friend, stretched shadows from the sunset and the past darkening his features. Despite it all, he looked as awed by the beauty as Wolfwood felt. For that moment, Wolfwood could honestly believe that their world wasn't so bad after all. Vash kept his gaze facing forward, perhaps unaware of the gaze on him. Or perhaps he saw it and was uncertain of what to do.

Wolfwood didn't know which reason kept Vash facing away from him and didn't think too long about it. For once, the world actually made sense. Contented, he turned back to the sunset just as Vash turned to look at him.

It is commonly described as a 'missed chance', a lost moment.

The suns set and the friends stood. They headed into the hotel and made their way down the hallway to their rooms, five doors away from each other. Stopping at the door to his small hole-in-the-wall with a bed, Wolfwood faced Vash-who stood at the door of his own equally small room-gave a crooked smile and looked as if he might say something. It was all a finished puzzle in his mind, all the little pieces of their time together. Shared wounds and inside jokes, spaghetti and sunsets, girl-chasing, wild drunkenness and forced smiles that hid pain. The words were there; he only had to say them.

" 'Night, Wolfwood."

The parting phrase cut off whatever Wolfwood might have said. His lips closed again, pressing into a grim line, and he stared at the other man for a stretched moment, before his eyes lowered in what could easily be taken for sadness. He sighed.

" 'Night, Vash..."

Doors closed.

Morning came.

Then it was coffee and donuts, greetings and jokes all over again. And though nothing had changed, nothing was quite right either.

End


End file.
